


sin so thick you can't see the stars (can't tell good and evil apart)

by silversonata



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Stockholm Syndrome, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversonata/pseuds/silversonata
Summary: "I never asked for your help, Rogers."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title: [up in flames](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DPjOWqJ3js/) by ruelle  
> [tony's collar](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/more-reference-1-lotr-au-2-irontitanpet/)\+ the turquoise cabochon replaced with a blue topaz&without the indentations  
> [thanos' armor](https://www.sideshowtoy.com/collectibles/marvel-thanos-hot-toys-902322/?affiliate=dabidk%7c&utm_source=dabidk&utm_medium=affiliate&utm_content=Thanos+Marvel+Sixth+Scale+Figure&utm_campaign=Custom_Affiliate/)  
> there's a particular scene that repeats, however, it is intentional + contains a few tweaks. apologies for ooc-ness + mistakes.  
> thanos, in the comics, at least, originates from one of saturn's moons, titan  
> ALSO my writing can be confusing/convoluted, sorry about that. my style consists of stringing together different + nonlinear scenes.
> 
> EDIT: i should probably make this clearer since it didn't seem obvious to a _true_ stony fan, but this is not a fic to bash steve. this is tony's perspective after being manipulated by thanos + he literally does not care for steve, there's resentment, but it's resentment towards his captivity, not steve. and his decision of nat to steve is bc i like tonynat.

In a welcome respite, coarse, knobby fingers card languidly, leisurely, through the damp, silky strands of his hair, and press into his scalp with the faintest of pressures, _scritch_ , and, immediately, tension dissipates from the haunches of his shoulders, from the rigid line of his spine.

Slivers of pleasure thrumming beneath his skin, smoothing the weary wrinkles from his forehead, and soothing the dull throb of his temple, Tony sighs, leans on his knees, droops and nestles his cheek on a thick, muscly thigh.

Delicate, and meticulous, a lover’s warm caress, the hand slides from the curls of his hair, and clasps the side of his face, and, once more, raises his head.

Firm, strangely fond, a thumb swipes across the seam of his lips, digs into the plush folds of his mouth, peeks into the white of his teeth, and he shudders, flushes shamelessly with want. He flicks his tongue for a fleeting taste before he diligently sucks the appendage into his mouth, dribbles of saliva on his chin.

(He relishes in the subsequent throaty moan, he lives to please, after all.)

When the thumb pops free of his mouth, and retracts, Tony manages a plaintive whine, flutters his eyelashes, and stares directly, blearily, into the thin rings of brilliant baby-blues.

(Tony drinks in the sight of him - from the golden-wheat of his hair, to the fair, Irish glow of his skin, and the massive cords of his muscles --)

Heat, rich, and carnal, flares in the depths of his steely gaze, and he drags a purposeful fingertip from the curve of Tony's jaw to the sun-kissed column of his throat, trails and prods the gold-circlet clasped to his nape.

(A gold band set with a fine, blue topaz sits heavy on his skin, elegant, and resplendent, and it's a collar meant to subjugate, discipline, and detain, and it's all _his_. He's earned it - he's been so good, _so very good_.)

And those blue, beady eyes sweep appreciatively, hungrily, along the contours of Tony's lithe, sinewy figure, marvel the array of trinkets, and gifts, on display, the single shawl tapered to his waist, thoroughly intakes every inch.

Tony preens.

* * *

"Tony."

Gracious, generous, really, Tony spares him a flinty, furtive glance, and, disinterested, nudges his head against the frosty window pane, returns his focus to the stars filtering in the early dawn, searches, seeks.

(Heroic ventures and desperate endeavors have culminated, taken it's toll on Steve's features. Years of exhaustion, stress, and grief have marred, and creased, the last youthful hints of his skin. Chalky, wan, he seems well into his forties, but he's very much the same man, staunch and resolute. Even with the age of time, he's still so statuesque, still so beautiful.)

"We need to talk." Apprehensive, Steve pauses, lingers by the doorway, unsure, uncertain, how to approach this listless shell of Tony Stark, and, eventually, his stubborn will perseveres, and he strides into the room, the door sealing with a _click_. "Clint's, uh, he's okay, cleared medical. Luckily, it wasn't too serious - you missed his jugular, and I think your nails did more damage than your teeth - so we were able to treat him with the sparse resources we have. But, did you really need to attack him?"

Tony refuses to listen, refuses to deign him with further attention, and searches, and seeks, the morning sky, and _there_ , Saturn shines near Antares, and the Scorpion Stinger's stars, Shaula and Lesath, of the Scorpius constellation, and --

" _Tony_."

Steve grips his shoulder, his meaty fingers in the swell of his biceps, and Tony flinches, _hard_ , recoils, and slams into the wall. Stunned, absolutely horrified, a flash of hurt in his baby-blues, Steve slowly pulls back his hand.

"Get out of here." On the verge of panic, Tony rasps, " _Get out_."

Steve offers little else, retreats.

(Tony damns him for the fresh sting of tears. He's not him, he's not.)

.

.

.

Reluctantly, Tony allows for Steve to dab and clean the scrape, and deep, purple bruise, below the left of his eye - Steve denies him the use of the materials otherwise.

(Ginger, and nimble, and attentive, always so attentive, Steve pats clean gauze to the shallow wound, and the familiarity of it stirs an ache of something fierce in Tony's chest.)

"We're trying to help, Tony." Steve insists, wryly, quietly, "He was trying to help _you_."

Fear, visceral, instinctive, and cold, lances through him, and he fumbles for his collar, assures himself of its presence, and mumbles, "Shouldn't have touched me."

His brows pinched, Steve contests, sputters, "You shouldn't be collared like a -- like you're a damn dog, Tony." Adamant, he draws himself to his full height, clenches his hands into fists, his tactical uniform, and gear, frayed, tattered, "We want to help."

"I never asked for your help, Rogers."

* * *

Seven years, two months, and three days into the apocalyptic wasteland that has become their Earth, their home, they find him in California, in the rebuilt walls of his Malibu home, in the realm of the Titan's dominion.

Undisturbed, unperturbed, he sleeps, wrapped and burrowed in Egyptian cotton sheets.

(They fail to minimize the theatrics of breaking and entering - Clint trips, careens into the closet - they're not what they used to be. Snuffling, Tony rouses from the dregs of sleep, a small, drowsy smile on his lips, a mirthful gleam in his eyes until he recognizes the occupants in the bedroom.)

Lucid, he balks, scrambles and springs from the bed, stumbles onto weak, sore legs, and grapples onto nearby shelves for support.

Appalled, and perplexed, they collectively gasp - Tony, _their Tony_ , once worn with age, presents the zest of life, the vitality of youth, his maturation smudged, smoothed away, and he's bare, save for a few pieces of jewelry, mottled with harsh, garish love-marks, painted and coated in something slick.

(Rightfully, they decide to rescue him.)

Unforgiving, and unyielding, he retaliates, resists their attempts to steal him into the night - clocks Lang square in the nose, lashes and claws into Barton's cheek - they, however, sedate him, a syringe to his neck, and make off with him.)

.

.

.

For a mere month, they retain him.

* * *

Silent, selectively mute, perhaps, he keeps to himself in the confines of his designated room - they do not give the freedom to explore, anyhow - and, wary, dubious, he observes and scrutinizes them.

(He doesn't question or inquire the whereabouts of the other Avengers, his eyes on the bright sky full of stars, his hands on his collar, wistful, _hopeful_.)

It leaves them rattled.

* * *

Two weeks into his imprisonment, and the compound mostly devoid of Avengers, Tony attempts an escape, brandishes a shoddy swiss army knife, packs of gum, shoe strings, and paper clips he pilfered from their belongings, and wreaks havoc in his haste.

Steve narrowly fails to contain him.

Ultimately, Steve disarms and immobilizes Tony, encircles his arms under the hollows of Tony's own, and crushes Tony to his chest, secures his hands on the splay of Tony's neck.

Frantic, seized by hysterics, Tony screams, and struggles, and strains his muscles, sharp, white-hot pain searing the joints of his neck, and shoulders.

"Tony," Steve pleads, hoarse, urgent, "I need you to calm down. You're hurting yourself. Please, _please_ stop moving." And he rambles, blurts flimsy reassurances that have haunted him upon their retrieval of Tony, "I'm not him, Tony, I promise. I'm not him."

(Startled, Tony lapses into momentary silence, swallows, lets the words sink in.)

Resentful, he spits, shrewd, bitter, "No, you're not."

.

.

.

"Clint doesn't mean to be so - he's had a hell of a time, Tony, you have to understand. He hasn't been the same after, after Laura and the kids -- _bullshit_ , none of us have been the same. Sam didn't, God, he didn't make it. We don't know if Thor and Bruce are okay, if Asgard survived, somehow. Or Wakanda, for that matter. We had correspondence with T'Challa for several weeks, but communications abruptly ended. There's been no sign of Fury, or Hill. And Wanda, fucking hell, Wanda's practically catatonic, she doesn't function anymore, not with the way Vision...and Scott, the man's hanging by a thread, _Christ_. Nat won't talk to me, not really, and Bucky doesn't want to even look at me. We're a goddamn mess."

.

.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do anything for Rhodes, Pepper, and Hogan. Or, Peter. I know how much they meant to you."

"They're far from dead, Rogers."

"Tony, there was - there was no way for them to withstand the onslaught of --"

"Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Peter, May, Harley, Lila, they're all with me."

"Tony..."

"He saved them for me, you know. Just for me."

.

"I know the Accords really screwed things up for us, but we need you, Tony. _I_ need you."

(Once. Yearning for the comfort and solace of their past, Steve tries to embrace Tony once. Vehement, Tony spurns and scorns him, brutally smacks his hands aside, _dares_ him to try it again.)

* * *

In the spell of twenty-seven days, Tony's collar briefly, brightly, glitters, shimmers, and then, _burns_ , scorches and blisters his throat. Anguished, his cheeks ruddy, stained in tears, Tony collapses onto the floor, cries, shrill, and strangled.

(He keeps his hands to his sides, hesitant to remove it.)

Swiftly, Natasha deduces the nature of the collar, reprimands Steve, yells, and orders him to take it from Tony, now.

Hastily, clumsily, Steve snags the front of Tony's collar, the blue stone in the center of his palm, his flesh sizzling, blotching, in sporadic bursts, and Tony, Tony looks to him, fright and dread in the pinpricks of his swollen gaze, and he croaks, implores, " _Don't_."

Steve snaps the collar in two.

(Snaps the remnants of Tony's fragile heart.)

.

.

.

Lifeless, lethargic, and mournful, Tony crawls, and stays, in the linen of his bed, withers, and wilts - gives up.

.

.

Absently, he touches the discolored stretch of skin on his neck, scours for the collar that's no longer there.

.

(Yet again, he's been forsaken, forgotten.)

* * *

In a welcome respite, coarse, knobby fingers card languidly, leisurely, through the damp, silky strands of his hair, and press into his scalp with the faintest of pressures, _scritch_ , and, immediately, tension dissipates from the haunches of his shoulders, from the rigid line of his spine.

Slivers of pleasure thrumming beneath his skin, smoothing the weary wrinkles from his forehead, and soothing the dull throb of his temple, Tony sighs, leans on his knees, droops and nestles his cheek on a thick, muscly thigh.

Delicate, and meticulous, a lover’s warm caress, the hand slides from the curls of his hair, and clasps the side of his face, and, once more, raises his head.

Firm, strangely fond, a thumb swipes across the seam of his lips, digs into the plush folds of his mouth, peeks into the white of his teeth, and he shudders, flushes shamelessly with want. He flicks his tongue for a fleeting taste before he diligently sucks the appendage into his mouth, dribbles of saliva on his chin.

(He relishes in the subsequent throaty moan, he lives to please, after all.)

When the thumb pops free of his mouth, and retracts, Tony manages a plaintive whine, flutters his eyelashes, and stares directly, blearily, into the thin rings of radiant, electric blues.

(Tony drinks in the sight of him - _from the smooth slope of his head, to the gray-purple tint of his skin, and the massive cords of his muscles_ \--)

Heat, rich, and carnal, flares in the depths of his steely gaze, and he drags a purposeful fingertip from the curve of Tony's jaw to the sun-kissed column of his throat, trails and prods the gold-circlet clasped to his nape.

(A gold band set with a fine, blue topaz sits heavy on his skin, elegant, and resplendent, and it's a collar meant to _express the breadth of his devotion, the extent of his affections, the layers of his love_ , and it's all _his_. He's earned it - he's been so good, _so very good_.)

And those blue, beady eyes sweep appreciatively, hungrily, along the contours of Tony's lithe, sinewy figure, marvel the array of trinkets, and gifts, on display, the single shawl tapered to his waist, thoroughly intakes every inch.

Tony preens.

* * *

Uncomfortable, and uneasy, Steve gnashes his teeth, chokes out, "Did he - did he hurt you?"

"No, never." Tony confides, a note of finality in his tone. "He was always...kind."

(It's far too much for Steve to unpack, to discern, to sift and identify, and, terrified, he drops the interrogation, ducks out, and flees.)

* * *

Just days after Tony's been freed of his collar, all hell breaks loose.

Unbridled, unrestrained, the Chitauri swarm, infiltrate the compound, and easily, effortlessly, overwhelm what remains of the Avengers. It happens so quickly, so unfairly - the crunch of bodies, the slice of limbs, the splatters of blood.

A paragon of warlords, the Mad Titan, himself, adorned in the full regalia of his battle armor - his helmet, gauntlets, greaves, and boots finely sculpted - emerges from the shambles, steps into debris, and bloodshed, his eyes, hardy, steady, on Tony.

Alight, aflame, and _alive_ , his heart an unsteady lurch in his sternum, Tony staggers, rushes forward, _barges_ through the Chitauri poised over slain Avengers, and sways within several feet of Thanos.

(And he's real, and he's here, grand and majestic.)

Gradually, deliberately measured, and unhurried, Thanos reaches for him, gently, and tenderly, grazes his knuckles against his cheek, and Tony gasps, the prickle of unshed tears in the corners of his wide-eyes. Tony clings to the extended hand, his fingertips in the latches of the metallic gold gauntlet, and nuzzles into the flat of his palm.

Promptly, softly, Thanos gathers and cradles Tony in his arms, his lips on the dainty, downy crown of his head, "Too long have we been parted, my pet."

"My Lord." Tony whispers, breathy, reverent.

"A commission of such treason demands retribution."

.

.

.

(Exceedingly bountiful to his royal consort, Thanos permits Tony to choose a survivor for his collection, a cosmic, mystical sphere in his grasp. Careless, the Chitauri toss, and deposit Steve, and Natasha, in a mangled heap by Tony's feet - their bodies battered, and bruised, their flesh bloody, lacerated ribbons. He picks Natasha.)

* * *

Hazy, slightly fuzzy, Tony sprawls in Thanos' lap, rubs his cheek into his solid, burly chest, and _purrs_ , a low, delightful sound from the recesses of his throat. 

Thanos proffers a variety of berries, an assortment of reds, purples, and blacks, to the crest of his mouth, and Tony ensnares, and entwines, the tangy sweets with his tongue, lazily licks the juices from Thanos' fingers.

(Lightly, Thanos taps the blue stone of Tony's new collar, and Tony beams, wears it proudly.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S O  
> the idea is that steve/tony were a thing, you know, prior to cacw and the first scene is a corrupted memory of theirs, hence, the switch up of lines:  
> -> it's a collar meant to subjugate, discipline, and detain  
> -> it's a collar meant to express the breadth of his devotion, the extent of his affections, the layers of his love  
> the former is used for steve, the latter for thanos, when it's really the other way around, and i guess there's a bit of dom/sub undertones if tony had a collar w/steve...huh  
> the execution would have worked better if i had the skills but oh well, this is self-gratuitous anyways
> 
> also, i think it's vaguely implied, but thanos totally made off with tony @ the beginning of his reign over earth, the only reason earth is intact is bc of tony tbh. tony bargained for it or smth. thanos keeps tony on earth bc tony isn't ready for space, and thanos is working on breaking tony in + wants tony to willingly offer himself and what not, the good ol' cliché. 7 years are nothing for his kind, anyhow. tony probs resisted for 3-4 years. ALSO tony has a lil collection of orbs which contains his friends, courtesy of thanos
> 
> i just really wanted to try my hand @ irontitan. strangely enough, they weren't together for most of this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You belong to me._

Steam clings to Thanos, engulfs his burly, bulky stature in cool tendrils of mist, tiny droplets of moisture beading, and trickling, along the ripple of his muscles, the bulge of his deltoids, the hint of his obliques, and the ridges of his spine.

Silent, his stance solid, sturdy, he waits, and lingers, partially submerged, in the center of the bath, the structure enclosed by a ring of stone pillars.

(Oh, he's a gorgeous sight, unblemished, unstained. How could Tony hope to compare?)

Addled, riddled with unease, Tony fumbles to secure his robe, winds skittish fingers in the plush fabric, and clinches the shawl collar to his neck. He contemplates, considers whether he's been seen, or heard, and decides to take his chances, twists, and angles for the door-handle behind him.

Brusque, brazen, his tongue heavy with gravel, and laden with reproach, Thanos, unturned, and untouched, queries, "Did I permiss you to leave?"

Reflexive, and instinctive, Tony's heart soars, incessantly beats and batters the cage of his ribs, and his blood rapidly runs cold, his knees weak, wobbly.

(He's always so faint of heart when it comes to Thanos.)

Facing the sleek, marble panels of the door, Tony clutches his robes closer, answers, terse, and tense, "N-no."

"Then, you turn and cower from me."

Unhinged, unnerved by the gruff admission, Tony snaps, whirls around, breathes, and swears, a painful ferocity in his tone, " _Never_. Never from you." And he startles, swallows his tongue, and careens into the door, and stares, and _stares_.

Thanos, in the wispy shrouds of mist, and the hazy scents of salt, sandalwood, and rose, stands, and towers, before him, Tony barely level with his abdomen. "Do not take me for a fool. You intend to hide yourself." Inky, beady blues flicker to the robe, briefly inspect the collar, and minutely, he follows, adjusts, and cranes his head, his mouth a breadth from the shell of Tony's ear, "Tell me," Thanos urges, compels, and demands. "Do you think yourself spoiled, my pet?"

"No." _Yes_.

Brisk, and swift, a harsh crack of his wrist, Thanos surges, and grasps Tony by the chin, splays and digs his stocky fingers in the delicate curve of his jaw, in the rosy swell of his cheek. "I desire your truth, and I shall have it."

Mortified, resigned, Tony scrunches his eyes shut, chokes out a brittle, "Yes."

"Bare yourself to me."

Tentative, a tinge reluctant, Tony strips free of the robe - he gradually peels the material from his shoulders, and carefully deposits it on the floor.

Gently, ever so gently, Thanos trails the slant of his throat, and traces the circlet of blistered, thickened skin, bemoans, "This has frightened you so?"

Tony draws a shaky breath.

(Weak, weak, weak, he's always been so _weak_.)

"You are a formidable warrior, a harbinger of death, _the_ Merchant of Death, and yet, this has shaken the foundations of your will?" Thanos maintains his grip on Tony, brushes their noses together, "I have no use for one so meek, for a spirit so pathetic, and feeble, in the service of my armies, or in the attendance of my chambers."

Horrified, and panicked, a pulse of fear in the hollow of his stomach, Tony flounders, scrambles for Thanos' wrist, and squeezes the wiry joint, his brown eyes wide, desperate, "I'm sorry, please, please don't - I'll be better, I can - I can be _good_ , so good --"

"Such is the fragility of mortals." Lightly, not unkindly, Thanos cradles Tony's cheeks in his palms, and gingerly presses his thumb in the folds of his mouth, "You needlessly worry yourself ill, my pet. No matter your faults, your flaws, there is worth and merit in you." And he beckons Tony forward, forces him to straighten and rise on the tips of his toes, scant space between their mouths, and their bodies, "You are mine as you are - I shall have no other. "

Tony shivers, parts his lips, supple, and sweet.

" _You belong to me_."

(And Thanos slips a hand to the crown of Tony's head, twines his fingers in the messy locks of his hair, and kisses him with an intensity that has his jaw ache.)

Smooth, and seamless, Thanos hoists Tony, holds him flush to his chest, and Tony gasps into the slick, thick wall of muscle, clings to the meat of his shoulders, wraps his legs around him, and hooks his ankles in the furrow of his back.

Thanos nips the corner of Tony's mouth, flicks his tongue, and meets the pliant curl of Tony's own. Eager, and wanton, Tony opens up for him, bucks his hips, and gives an impatient little moan.

(Thanos promptly reaches for the door-handle.)

.

.

.

When Tony's spread beneath him, flushed, stretched, and overstimulated, Thanos reaches for the raw, tender mark on his throat, and applies a thin layer of gel that soothes, heals, and mends the wounded flesh.

Softly, sleepily, Tony smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [irontitan proportions](http://pwnyta.tumblr.com/post/152904810494/jumping-on-the-trash-brigade-can-we-get-more/) (this amazing fanart inspired me to jump aboard, tbh) bc i gotta make them fit somehow, it's tricky working with their height/size difference
> 
> this was a snippet i cut from the first part since it didn't flow the way i wanted it to in the original draft. 
> 
> this exchange happens before the that last lil bit of the first chapter (before tony got his new collar). ALSO i apologize for any convoluted writing, ooc-ness, mistakes, awkward dialogue (dialogue is such a pain to write...), etc.
> 
> AND thank you all so much for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! i didn't think it would be too enjoyable. just, thank you so so much. c:
> 
> I FORGOT THE REF FOR THE BATH. ok, it's like a huge, intricate bath?? kinda like an elaborate pool. i had a pic for this...somewhere.


	3. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snippet inspired by places \+ their comment about tony in a diamond studded leash (which was, in turn, inspired by this [CANON pic of thanos wranglin' silver surfer in a leash](https://twitter.com/jnwiedle/status/880549171538907136/) i'm still a m a z e d  
> i totally dropped the ball and wrote this instead of smth a little more steamy tho. my writing went in a completely different direction, look @ my life choices.  
> ANYWAYS, tony is in his late forties here, he hasn't been given that elixir of life yet, and is tryin to get the hell outta here. i have no idea if i followed the earlier plot, but this is an extra, ok. i have been working on my writing style and i hope this is a lil easier to digest. c:

"You are most persistent in your endeavors to escape." Undeterred, unbothered, Thanos reaches for the pristine, minuscule knife in his shoulder, clinches the steel handle, and dislodges, and pries, it free from his bulk, spills inky, beady royal-blood. Careless, he lets the blade fall, clatter to the ground. 

(His personal attendant, what remains of him, lies cold, and still, in death, a crude, metallic device affixed to its head. Utterly disposable.) 

"These years have not dulled your fiery spirit, or your desperation." Placid, perfectly poised, and composed, he snaps, winds the leash to his wrist, twines his fingers in the strip of gold plates, and diamond stones, and  _pulls._

Callous, vicious, the strap singes, tears into the delicate flesh of Tony's throat, and drags, reels him in, and he heaves, a familiar sting in his bleary eyes, and tender ears. 

Smooth, and precise, his strength infallible, Thanos ripples, hauls Tony by the leash, hoists, and slams his body against the glass window, the ceaseless, endless stretch of the universe behind the thick, transparent panel. 

And Tony coughs, and wheezes, spittle on his chin, struggles, and scrambles, to lift, and hook, his legs on either side of Thanos' shoulders, strains his head to alleviate the flare of pressure on his neck—frantic for any sort of reprieve. Shaky, hazy, he feels Thanos nestle into the dip of his thighs, brush his nose in the ivory shawl that separates him from supple, sunkissed skin. 

"You are foolish to expect their good graces." Earnest, sincere, Thanos chastises, and coddles him, "They do not think you are worth their effort, their expense. This kingdom stands, untouched, unmoved by pursuits and expeditions created in your honor."

"Stop." Anguish mars his features, stains his cheeks pink. " _Stop_ , God, stop." Tony rasps, brittle, and faint, defeat ripe, sour on his tongue. "Stop fucking talking--"

"You gave yourself to  _me_ —your desires are longer of any consequence. You are mine to do with as I see fit." Thanos tightens his grip on the cord, "You will serve me as long as I wish it, and do so without complaint." Gentle, nimble, and fond, a farce of a lover's touch, he caresses Tony's temple, sweeps aside the wispy strands of grey, and black, strokes the soft line of his jaw, and grazes the bristles of his beard. "Who else shall care for you, my pet? Where will you be, if not beside me?" He drawls, silvery, silky, "How many more times will you let them bring you to ruin?"

(They're not here, they haven't tried, _they won't come_.) 

Pained, and wounded, a sense of loss in his bruised heart, Tony breaks, and crumples, stifles the low, harsh sound of his sob in the splay of his palms, streaks and stains his cheeks in tears, and  _he knows_  this is the end. 

"They have been so cruel, and unkind, have they not? So eager to use you, to take, and take, and take—until you have nothing left. And they fault you for their shortcomings, blame you for every mishap, misdeed, and misfortune. No gratitude, no appreciation to show." Brief, deliberate, Thanos traces the pattern of scars on Tony's his sternum, prods the mark, and indentation, of blunt, physical trauma, the groove left behind by vibranium--

Tony flinches, and whimpers, the memories fresh, and recent, the betrayals bone-deep. 

"They have never deserved you."

(Weary, heavy, swept in a wave of exhaustion, Tony slumps forward, and clings to Thanos, sputters, insistent, and incoherent, "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry.")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i'm gonna write a part ii that is a lil softer and steamier and uses the leash in a much more pleasant way. just gotta get my other writing done, oop.  
> ALSO, thanos is contradictory and whatnot bc he is getting into tony's head, manipulating him, preyinggg, he's not too cold, not too mean, and then out of nowhere, he's nice, and sweet. tony's so tired, and done, tbh. thanos is "nicer" once tony's compliant.


End file.
